This six-part narrative sequence is about the first - and last - time that I had anal intercourse with another boy. Just in case that wasn't clear from the index headings. :)

I spent alot of time on this six-part narrative, for several reasons. It's one of the memories I can recall most clearly; that's partly because it was unique and different, I think. And I spent alot of time thinking about it, after it happened. It was emotionally more complex for me than other kinds of sex. It's more intimate to me than BJs, or even 69. I'm extrapolating from one lone experience being on the receiving end, and (excluding females) one lone experience on the penetrating end. But it was a heavy experience.

And last... it's a big deal to me, because it was all swirled together with my relationship with Kenny; with knowing inside - and refusing to admit to myself, or anyone - that I loved him, was in love with him, that he was my boyfriend (and vice-versa), and not just my best friend.

As is clear by now, I'm not so good at (nor comfortable with) these self- analytical pieces. I'd rather let the story unfold by itself, and throw in the feelings as they come to me in the course of things. So let's do that.

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As I've mentioned a number of times, for most of my youth, the sexual nature of my anus and rectum never crossed my radar screen. That's ironic, because in the very first sexual experience I recall, playing doctor at around age five, the most vivid memory is when one little girl inserted something in my butt. But that was the limit of my experience for a long time. I never paid much attention to that part of myself.

I never thought about any other boy's anus and rectum, either, once I became sexually active. I had this vague awareness throughout my early sexual explorations that we could play games with our anuses, the other boys and me. But it was rarely in my conscious mind, and when it did surface, I didn't act on it. I wasn't disgusted, or even averse. I just wasn't curious. It just always seemed like there were better things we could do.

My Big 3 Books were responsible, as they were with so much of my sex education, for giving me concrete information about anal sex. (Incidentally, I'm not overly fond of the term "anal sex". I don't know why... it just sounds very unappealing. Maybe because the term "anal" is so common these days as shorthand for "anal retentive". But I don't have any better ideas for what to call it.) All three books went into considerable detail about the anus and rectum and their role in sex, and all three were pretty positive about it. Sex and the Single Man outlined in some detail how to do it with your girlfriend, if I recall correctly. The other two books had fairly big sections devoted to anal sex between two males, as well as male+female. I remember reading those, over the years, and thinking, "Well... it's obviously a big deal to alot of people... hmmm... maybe I ought to try that... some day, maybe..."

But I never got past the idle-thought stage - until my relationship with Kenny came about. After we'd been together for a few months, I remember thinking in a new light about playing with each other's butts, and about anal intercourse itself. At the time, I didn't give it any analytical thought; it was just part of the flow of my life. Looking back, I think the change was due to a number of factors, and I'll talk about those. At this point, suffice it to say that anal sex was now on my radar screen. I wasn't sure I wanted to try it, until right before we actually did; but it was a live option. Once we both started thinking about it, the whole thing happened rather quickly. It was over rather quickly, too.

The first event that I'd peg as part of this growing interest took place one evening when I was alone. I hadn't done anything with Kenny sexually for several days in a row; and back then, I could barely stand going 24 hours without an orgasm. So just about every night I'd masturbate. This evening, as I had off and on for years, I was referring to my Big Three Books for stimulation. That wasn't typical for me by this time. By age 15, I'd really fallen out of the habit of getting them out. I'd read them cover to cover, and I had the best parts memorized by sheer repetition. And by 15 years old, I had alot of live-action memories of good times with my friends.

But every once in a while, it was fun to revisit the Big Three. One reason was that the smell of those books triggered my arousal. (No, it wasn't what you're thinking - they just smelled like aging paper and glue - like old books.) I didn't own many books, back then, and those were the only books with that particular odor; and it goes without saying that the right smells are powerful aphrodisiacs.

Anyway: This night, I was lying in my bedroom with the door closed and my dim bedside light on, reading and slowly feeling my erection, not really into it yet. I was paging through Variations in Sexual Behavior at random. And I came to a section in which a man was discussing his experiences as a boy. I'd read that chapter alot of times, but I mainly focused on the blowjob paragraphs. This night, I found myself on a page where he was recounting an incident in which he was upstairs in his bedroom one night, and a friend of his dad's came in. (His dad was gay, as was the other man - this chapter was primarily about incest.) The narrator's story went like this. (Not an exact quote - my memory isn't that good! :))

One night a friend of his came up to the attic. I knew what he wanted. I wasn't very horny because I'd already jerked off twice that day. But I decided to let him blow me. So, my clothes were off and he was licking me, and he started licking around my a**h*le, and then he stuck his tongue inside my a**h*le. At the time, I thought he was doing it because he wanted to 'cornhole' [i.e., buttfuck] me. However, I have since realized that some guys just like to do that. But I didn't want to be 'cornholed', so I stopped him, and he blew me and then left.

The anus still wasn't a primary focal-point for me sexually. I don't recall deliberately going back to that passage, or any other passage in my books, within the next week or two; nor did I think to bring it up with Kenny right away. But eventually, of course, it resurfaced.

I'm not sure how many more times I found myself thinking and/or reading about anal stuff during masturbation before starting to experiment with Kenny. My recollection is that playing with Kenny was around a month later. I recall being familiar and comfortable with the whole thing, which suggests I'd had time to fantasize about it a while... not sure. At any rate, once we started experimenting, things moved ahead fairly quickly. It was less than two weeks from our first experiments, to actually doing it.

We were seriously into our relationship by this point. This was January - I remember, because it was not long after Christmas (as you'll see, post- Christmas shopping plays a minor role in this narrative); and I was well into swim season, and wrestling season for Kenny. It wasn't really cold ("really cold" down South meant below freezing :)), but it was chilly, and that was a factor in where we went, later, and what we did....

Anyway (to cut to this particular chase): One Saturday night, Kenny was sleeping over at my house. We were upstairs in my bedroom, involved in our favorite activity, 69ing. We were side-by-side as usual, and I was sort of playing gently with his testicles with my hand (which he liked) while I sucked him. Now, over the years I'd read about the old finger-in-the-anus trick, and I'd had it done to me once, by the 16 year-old boy who taught me how to 69 when I was twelve. Back then, I wasn't interested at all; I'd pushed his hand away. But this was three years later. And I had this new-found interest.

I don't know if anything specific triggered the thought, but in the midst of things it occurred to me to do the same to Kenny that my lifeguard friend has done to me. And (typical of little Danny), as soon as the thought came to me, I did it.

I knew my finger would have to be lubricated. So I quit sucking and pulled my mouth off Kenny (he made some mild muffled noise of protest, but didn't stop sucking me), quickly stuck my index finger in my mouth, got it all wet and slick, got his dick back into my mouth... and then just reached around, found his butt crack, and got my finger up against his hole. When I touched it, he flinched and gagged me, and I had to quit sucking to recover for a second. Kenny took his mouth off my cock and whispered, "What are you doing?... Did you mean to do that?" I said "Yeah... is it okay?" A pause. And then he said, "Yeah, let's try it." I loved that guy. :)

He continued: "Want me to do it to you, too?" I promptly said, "No, let's see if you like it, first." (I was still remembering my experience at 12 y/o.) He said "Okay, but you can't chicken out later." I shoved his hipbone, and said, "Who you calling chicken?", and a five-second wrestling match ensued. (No more than five; we were too aroused to drop what we were doing.) We got settled into our positions again, and he got my dick in his mouth and I got his in mine, and we went on with our 69.

After a second or two, I reached back and found his anus with my finger again, and pushed. He didn't flinch this time, but his sphincter didn't open either. I pushed a little harder, and felt a little give, but not much. I pushed still harder. He quit sucking and took his mouth off me, and whispered, loudly (all our conversations were whispered - my mom was asleep down the hall, and my brothers next door): "Hey, that hurts! Don't poke so hard!" I said, "Well, it's not going in..." He said, "Maybe you need to get it wetter."

I hesitated. I'd already touched his anus, and the thought of putting my finger back in my mouth after that was not appealing. So, after a second, I said, "Aww... let's do it some other time, okay?" He said, "Okay - but - you have to promise you'll let me do it to you, too." I said, "I promise, I promise... come on, let's go." (All this talking was getting in the way of our blowjobs, and I wanted to come. :))

And that was the end of the experiment, that time - we finished the old- fashioned way not long after. But I wanted to try that finger-in-the-butt thing on Kenny. And the more I thought about it, the more willing I was to let him do it to me. I knew I'd have to anyway, since I'd promised. (Reciprocity is a big deal to boys, whatever games they're playing.) But I also wanted it.

As was not uncommon when we slept over with each other, that wasn't the only time we had sex that night. (I miss being 15 years old... :)) We didn't suck each other again right away, this time; instead, we lay awake in my bed, talking and giggling and stuff. It wasn't sex-related. Typically in these interludes we'd talk about school or soccer, or complain about our families, or whatever; and it was something like that this time. But part of my mind wouldn't let go of the anal idea.

After a few minutes, I said, "When we do it again, wanna try the finger thing?" Kenny said, "Yeah... I'll try to relax, this time." Relax?... hmmm... His comment triggered a memory. I said, "Oh yeah. In my book, they said you have to make it easier, by pushing out with your muscles like you're taking a dump." He said, "Okay... I'll try it... but if I shit in your bed, it's your fault." I immediately hit his leg for that, and another two-second shoving match ensued.

His response triggered another thought. I said, "I know you were joking... but do you have to go? I mean, I don't wanna run into any surprises in there." Kenny said, "Aw, quit worrying. You know I always shit in the mornings." And it was true - we both were really regular, and we both paid our respects to the porcelein throne in the morning hours. From as far back as I remember (and still true today) I've moved my bowels about a half-hour after breakfast-time. That's true whether I eat or not. (This is a detail about Danny you weren't dying to know, isn't it? :))

Meanwhile, back at the ranch: Within an hour, we were ready again, and we did it. I won't describe the whole thing; it wasn't really different from the previous time, in terms of positions, etc. But this time, I got my finger even wetter. (I'd made a quick bathroom trip in-between, as I usually did afterwards; this time I'd scrubbed that finger off thoroughly.) I got it all saliva-coated, and reached around and probed him, found the hole and pushed... and this time, it went in, immediately, up to the first knuckle. He'd pushed out - I'd felt his outer sphincter flex as soon as I touched him - so I figured that was the trick.

(Quick anatomy lesson: Most people don't realize that there are two anal sphincter muscles - one at the outer exit [or entrance, if you prefer :)], and another inside where the anus connects to the rectum. I guess it makes little practical difference, but I thought that fact was curious when I found out a few years ago. Technically I should be using the plural "sphincters" in these narratives, but it seemed distracting; so I'll go with conventional, though slightly inaccurate, terminology.)

When I went inside his butt, he jerked slightly. I was expecting it that time, and I backed off a little so I wouldn't gag. I wasn't sure how far up his butt he wanted me to go, but I figured he'd stop me if it was too much. After a second or two, I pushed a little more. My finger slid farther inside. I got it in up to the second knuckle, and stopped, since that was about as far as I could go. As it happened, 69 is a good position if you want to stick your finger up your partner's butt, since the plane of your hand and fingers is already parallel to his crack. (I always knew geometry class was good for teaching me something... :))

Part of me was excited about this new thing we were doing. His anal ring was squeezing my finger tightly. It was all hot inside there. And those were turn- ons. But I recall my main feeling being curiosity - "so that's what it's like in there." It was a complete unknown to me. I'd never so much as poked my own anus with a finger.

I remember thinking that his prostate was in there, somewhere, and that according to my books, it was exciting to have it touched, and the touch could even trigger an instant orgasm. But I wasn't even sure what a prostate was, at 15, so I didn't know what to look for. (Maybe that seems odd... but I was alot more interested in the practical side of sex anatomy. What was going on internally didn't capture my attention.) I settled for just leaving my finger where it was.

Well, I may not have known what or where Kenny's prostate was, but obviously I found it. :) Within a couple of seconds after I got my finger all the way in, he jerked his hips, gagging me for a half-second (as usual) and then came in my mouth. My books had warned me that it might happen that way, so I was prepared. It didn't seem any different to me than Kenny's normal orgasms in terms of quantity or forcefulness, but it seemed quick for the second time.

I never especially enjoyed it when Kenny came first, because I didn't like to swallow, and in 69 you have to swallow if your partner comes first and you don't want to break either side of your connection. But Kenny usually came before me. So I usually swallowed his sperm. It was a small price to pay. :) This time, I swallowed... and then, when he was finished shooting, I pulled my finger out of his butt. As nearly always in 69 when he came first, I kept his dick in my mouth, just holding it, while he finished me. He was sensitive after coming, but he liked me to keep his dick nice and warm, and I liked doing it. :)

I knew it was my turn to get penetrated. And, as soon as he finished coming, Kenny quit sucking me for a second and took his mouth off. I knew he was getting his finger wet down there. I sort of tensed up, anticipating his probe - and then I consciously made myself relax. He resumed sucking my dick, and then immmediately I felt him poking around in my butt crack. He located my hole and I flinched slightly - I knew it would happen, so I was able to control it. As soon as my flinch-reflex passed, I pushed with my muscles, to allow him access.

His entry was a mirror-image of the way it had happened up on my end, as far as I could tell. I pushed with my muscles, and simultaneously he pushed with his finger, and I felt it slip inside. Unlike me, Kenny pushed it all the way in at once. His hands were alot bigger than mine, and I assume his finger went in farther.

Now, to this day, I have never in my life gotten any thrill out of having my prostate touched. I've experimented, and had partners experiment on me. I guess I'm in the minority of males who doesn't respond to that particular stimulus. I didn't know that then - as I said, I barely knew what a prostate was. My books had said that a finger up the butt was a good way to trigger instant orgasm, and that's what Kenny had done, so that's what I figured would happen to me.

It didn't. I felt his finger go in, and it hurt for a moment, and then it just felt... different. Not unpleasant, but not exciting. My immediate reaction, as soon as Kenny got his finger inside me, was "that's distracting!" I still don't have a good way to describe it, although I'm familiar with the sensation by now. In terms of how it affected me, I would compare it to being in the middle of sex, approaching orgasm, and having your partner (or someone) run an ice cube up and down your spine. I've had that done to me a couple of times, and it's not a problem, but no thrill either. (That's about as kinky as I've ever gotten in my life, incidentally. I'm a very vanilla-boring guy, sexually, believe it or not :))

I wasn't on the verge of orgasm at that point, but I wasn't far either; and I was sort of expecting his finger to trigger it. It didn't happen. If anything, it delayed my climax, because I was distracted by the different sensation. Kenny didn't do anything with his finger - he just let it stay there, and kept sucking my cock like always. And after a little while, I came, like always. I was aware of his finger the whole time, and when I reached orgasm, I could feel my sphincter squeezing it. I wouldn't describe any of that as better than "interesting."

All this was slightly puzzling to me, because all my books had described it in considerably more glowing terms than this. And Kenny had seemed to enjoy it, judging from his quick orgasm. I didn't dwell on it, but I remember wondering for a moment if that was all there was to it.

After we finished, almost immediately I felt the urge to wash off my finger again. I whispered to Kenny that I wanted to go wash his shit off my finger. There was nothing on my finger - just raggin' on him. He said something about the superior quality of his shit in reply. :) He needed to go, too. So we both got up, put on our underwear (as we usually did, in case anyone else happened to get up at the same time), and went down to the bathroom. I needed to pee, too, so after we stood side-by-side and scrubbed our fingers with Dial soap, I went over to the toilet. As I relaxed my bladder muscles to begin peeing, I noticed it made my anus tingle a little. Apparently all those muscles down there were connected. Another new aspect to this anal insertion stuff. No biggie, just different.

That was it for our mutual anal exploration, that weekend. We didn't have sex again that night (nor the next morning - usually we did the latter, but that morning we slept too late, as I recall.) We talked about it, briefly, before going to sleep that night. I asked him if my finger had pushed him over the edge. He said, simply, "Yeah." I said, "Well, not me. It was okay, and all. But it didn't get me hot. Maybe you didn't hit my prostate, or whatever." Kenny just shrugged. We were getting sleepy by that point. :)

The subject did come up again that weekend, verbally. Before Kenny went home that next day, Sunday, we spent an hour or so at the school property behind my house with the soccer ball, practicing and talking. Our anal play wasn't something I was dwelling on, but something called it to my mind at one point - maybe I felt an after-twinge, or it might've just been looking at Kenny's butt in his tight Levis. :) Anyway, I brought it up: "So, you wanna try the butt thing again?" Kenny immediately said, "Hell, yeah! It was great!... Do you?"

Up to this point, I didn't know for sure what Kenny thought of the whole thing. He'd seemed positive the night before, but this was a new day, and we were wide-awake and we'd had time to think. Obviously, he liked it alot. :) It again struck me that we'd had different experiences. But I wanted to try it again - I thought my lack of strong reaction was a temporary or maybe a first- time phenomenon. And besides, I liked Kenny (well, I loved him, but we didn't use that word), and wanted to do whatever he enjoyed. So I said "Yeah!" And that was the end of the train of thought - we went on to something else.

The only after-effects I noticed from the whole weekend were a mild sensation around my anus whenever I sat down, and that went away before the next day was over. I remember being slightly worried that it had remained open, somehow (one of my books mentioned that detail), and that people would notice in the locker room, and/or that water would get up there during swim practice. I checked with my own finger a couple of times during that Sunday, and was reassured to find it closed up tightly. :)

As I've mentioned, Kenny and I didn't have much opportunity to have sex during the week. It was difficult at school, for obvious reasons, so we usually had to work to arrange a time and a place to do it. (I think it's a little ironic that when we finally did screw each other, it was on a weekday at school... but that's getting ahead of the story.) For the next school-week, it didn't happen. Consequently, I had my evenings to myself, sexually, to masturbate and to think about stuff. And it was during that week that I decided I wanted to try the mutual-fingering again... and more. I decided that week to try to fuck Kenny, and/or let him fuck me.

I don't recall any single turning-point moment. I just beat off every night, and a couple of mornings before school, reading passages in my books here and there... and thinking about Kenny (my boyfriend) and wanting to get close to him... and being curious. I wondered if having a penis in there would trigger the sensations I seemed to miss out on with just his finger in me.

My feelings were not unmixed, to be sure. I had one big worry (pun intended): Kenny's gigantic dick. I had read in my books that size was not a big deal in anal sex, as long as both partners were careful. But what was "being careful"? The books didn't get very specific on that point. The only two details mentioned were: (a) use lots of lubrication; and (b) go slowly. The lube was no problem, I thought. My mom kept an industrial-sized jar of Vaseline in the bathroom medicine cabinet, and I expected something similar could be found at Kenny's house. (Vaseline isn't the best lubricant, I understand now - and it's downright dangerous if you use it on a condom, since it dissolves the rubber - but I didn't know, then. Fortunately, we didn't have to use it, as will be seen.)

I don't recall that anything was said about preparation, like slowly stretching the anal ring. (Maybe the info was there, but I skimmed it if so. I had a bad habit of doing that with the more boring paragraphs. :)) Positions were listed, but I don't remember much discussion about their relative advantages or disadvantages. I think my subsequent experience getting penetrated by Kenny might've been better, if we'd known more about those aspects.

I was less worried about me screwing Kenny. I wasn't very big. But oddly (it seemed at the time), I was looking forward more to being on the receiving end. I think that was partly because I'd already screwed two girls, and I thought doing it with a boy wouldn't be all that different - but having it done to me would be real different. And partly... well, I wanted Kenny inside me. I just wanted that. My thought wasn't fully-formed at the time. And I never went anywhere near the next step in that train of thought, and asked why I wanted him inside me. I wasn't analytical back then, as I said. I just knew what I wanted. And that was what I wanted, then - I wanted Kenny to fuck me. And then I wanted to fuck him. I was particular in wanting that sequence.

Anyway, the sum of it was that I decided I wanted to try anal intercourse. And as it happened, Kenny's thoughts were running along similar lines. :) I didn't know it, but he'd been making his own plans. And once we worked out the time and place, it happened. Pretty quick timetable. But when you're a 15 year-old boy, you want things to happen fast. And when you're trying to fit your sex life into a busy schedule - and when you want to keep it under cover - you seize opportunities.

We didn't get much chance to talk privately during the week as a rule, but on Thursday afternoon we found the opportunity, waiting for the school buses after our respective practices. We were sitting on the brick wall, talking to friends as they walked past, but no one happened to be sitting with us that day, so between friends we were by ourselves. I brought it up first: "I've been thinking... Want to try something new?" We hadn't even been talking about sex up to that point, much less anal sex. But he knew immediately what I had in mind. He said, "Yeah... if you mean what I think you mean, then yeah!" We giggled, rather visibly. I remember a friend of Kenny's, a kid I didn't know very well (and whose name I've now forgotten), walking past and looking at us, like, "Oh, private joke, huh?" You might say that. :)

We couldn't really make plans at that point. We already knew we wouldn't be able to spend that weekend together - Kenny had to go to his grandma's while his mom went out of town somewhere. And his grandma wasn't too keen on having kids come over even to play or hang out, much less sleep over. So we talked a little bit along the lines of "maybe next week, or next weekend," and left it at that. Not long after, my bus pulled up, so I said "see ya" and jumped off the wall and climbed aboard.

A poignant memory, from that afternoon: I remember that I sat down on the bus with a couple of friends from the swim team, Bill (my cousin) and Scott. We were laughing and cutting up like always. But I remember looking out the bus window, and there was Kenny, still sitting there on the wall, talking to someone, sitting with his hair still spiky-wet from the shower, sitting there in his school uniform with his legs apart, swinging his feet and kicking the wall in a particular rhythm, left-right-right, left-right-right... and I could see something between his legs that might have been a bulge, or might have been just a fold in his pants-fabric, or a shadow... And I remember consciously thinking "God, he is so hot."

I didn't typically allow myself to have conscious thoughts like that about Kenny, or any boys I knew - although when it happened with girls, I gave it free rein. Society's subtle hand at work in my head - deeply ingrained by age fifteen. Boys can't be hot for other boys. You could fool around, but you couldn't call it sex. And falling in love? It is to laugh. So, what was I supposed to call it when I had the hots for this boy, when I had just finished talking to him about our plans to fuck each other within the next 10 days (and if that's just "boys fooling around", then the Taj Mahal is just another house)... And what was I supposed to call it when I dreamed about him - him and me, kissing? I'd never kissed Kenny (and I never did). Society. The iron fist.

I'm glad I've never been prone to spontaneous erections. Seeing Kenny like that was a rush, and it might've been hard to explain to the others if that had manifested itself physically.

Well, time warped on. The weekend was long. I went to swim practice Saturday morning, but I don't remember what else I did that weekend. I found time to masturbate, of course. And I had a focus in my fantasies, by this point.

Monday came. I didn't see Kenny all day. School dragged; swim practice that afternoon was nice but endless. I went home, did homework, and all that, and took my shower before bed. I'd been thinking about buttfucking off and on all day. So I tried an experiment. I took the opportunity to get my finger all soapy and stick it up my butt as far as I could. I got it inserted to just past the second knuckle, but the rest of my hand was in the way, and that seemed a little frustrating. So I got my thumb all soapy, and repeated. My thumb went nearly all the way in... and the greater thickness did feel better. (I later heard or read that soap up your butt can make you sting. I've done it a bunch of times over the years, and it doesn't affect me that way. I guess Ivory and Dial - I've rarely used anything else - don't affect me that way.)

During this little shower experiment, and after, my thoughts were very focused, and I recall them distinctly: "I want more than his finger in there. I want him." It was a craving. But boys can't be hot for each other. So I stifled it.

Of course, I jacked off not long after, after getting in bed. (Why not in the shower? Because that's never worked for me - I have no idea why.) This time, I did something unusual. I typically masturbated sitting on the bed, either with my legs hanging off the side or propped up with my back against the pillow. This night, I got on my hands and knees, and stroked with my left hand as usual... and stuck my saliva-covered right index finger up my butt. Same physical result as when Kenny did it - no thrill, and slightly distracting. But the psychhology of it was nice. I had a good strong orgasm. I had retrieved my boxers from the laundry basket and put them underneath me to catch my ejaculation, but I shot off harder than usual and missed, mostly - got sperm all over the sheet. Fortunately I managed to get it wiped up before any damage was done. (I hate wet spots. :))

Next day, Tuesday, school was just as endless as Monday. I saw Kenny at lunch, but he was at a table that was already full, so we just waved. Afternoon classes were approximately three thousand years long, apiece. I wanted to talk to Kenny - partly because I wanted to see if he was still interested in screwing, and how soon we could do it - and partly because I just wanted to be with him. But boys don't think things like that... do they? No, of course not... he's just my best friend...

Since Kenny wrestled and I was on swim, and since the wrestlers and swimmers happened to be in different locker rooms, our paths usually didn't cross after school - unless one or both of us made an effort. It wasn't unusual for us to make that effort, after our friendship (our relationship) got established. One of us or the other would go down the hall to the other locker room, and if we timed it right, we'd find each other. It wasn't common for us to run into each other in the gym hallway - but it was cool when it happened, because often it meant we'd simultaneously gotten the idea to go see each other.

If I were writing a novel or a piece of fiction, I guess at this point I'd set it up so Kenny and I (having the same idea, and not being able to stand it any longer) each headed for the other's locker, ran into each other halfway, and, bonded by our common desire, went off somewhere private (maybe holding hands) and let things take their course. Well, real life is always messier, plot-wise. This day, after swim practice was over and I'd finished getting dressed, I went down to his locker. Not only did I not run into him - he wasn't even there. None of the wrestlers were there. I didn't want to just hang out in the other locker room, waiting for him - by this point, I was trying to cultivate a straighter image; and it was okay to hang out near your own locker, but kids talked if you hung out elsewhere. Besides, locker rooms are smelly. :)

So, after waiting a couple of minutes, I went down to the wrestling room. I didn't usually go there, because the coach didn't like smart-aleck kids, and young Danny was a known Smart-Aleck Kid - he always gave me the evil eye when I showed up. But I wanted to talk to Kenny, and that day my desire overcame my reluctance. Two good friends who were horny but didn't have girlfriends, that's all...

I had half-formulated a plan: persuade Kenny to come over to my house, or his, for the evening, so we could study together - our usual excuse. Neither my mom nor his were ever too keen on weekday get-togethers, as I've mentioned, since among other things it meant one of both of them would have to drive. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. First we'd see if he was willing and had time to spend together, that evening; next we'd call his mom or mine - depending on whom we expected to yell the shortest length of time. :) Or so I planned.

Practice was just finishing up when I came in. Fortunately, the coach had a few kids clustered around, so I was spared his glare. The remaining wrestlers were walking toward the door, so I stood aside and let them pass, trading some friendly insults with the kids I knew. Kenny was talking to some friends and didn't see me at first, but I stuck my foot out, as if to trip him, and that got his attention.

We didn't have much time to talk. Kenny was walking fast, since his practice had run late and he was hurrying to shower and get dressed in time for his bus. And it wasn't private - the other wrestlers were in front and behind us, going down the hall. I got to the point: "Want to study together tonight?"

Now, sometimes that really meant "study together tonight." I know I'm giving the impression that we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Well... we didn't, for very long. :) But there were quite a few times on school nights when we really did crack the books and keep other impulses at bay. (Kenny was a better student than me, in terms of work-ethic, and I think overall he was a good influence on me academically.)

Of course, "study together" was also a code. It wasn't always clear from just the words themselves. He didn't always know which way I intended it, and vice- versa; and sometimes neither of us knew in advance. Our sex, like our friendship (relationship), was mostly spontaneous. A boy-thing. (A boyfriend-thing.)

Sometimes, though, it was clear to both of us what "study together" meant. And this was one of those times. As we realized later, Kenny had spent his five days since Thursday thinking the same things I was thinking. :) He promptly said, "Can't. I have to go to Grandma's." I was disappointed, but not surprised; Kenny spent a lot of time at Grandma's. Then he added: "...But I don't have to, tomorrow. Wanna do it then?" He grinned. No mistaking what that meant. :)

We split up when he got to his locker room. I went out, caught my bus, rode home, ate dinner, did homework, showered, went to bed, jacked off (regular style this time), and went to sleep. With Kenny in my thoughts. (And my dreams.)

(So, if you're just best friends, why do you dream about him?
And it's not about doing best-friend stuff.
And it's not even about sex.
It's about holding hands.
Kissing him.
Long, slow, deep.
Why, Danny?
Answer me that.